The War Girls

by Rosie James

  Then Abigail sat forward. She had entered this new world and she would deal with it, and if to keep Emily safe, and to be accepted as a decent human being meant wearing a battered old curtain ring on her finger – then she would do the same again.

  And even though that lie would always be there, looming large, by being evasive to her friends’ questions just now, she’d just about managed to avoid telling any more actual untruths. Hadn’t she?

  But one day – one day – she would tell them everything. Because she would want them to know everything.

  When the time was right.

  Carrie broke the silence. ‘Your aunt sounds a very miserable person, Abigail.’

  ‘Yes, she was miserable,’ Abigail said, ‘but she’d had a hard life, working all hours and then having to bring me up as well.’ Abigail paused. ‘I never knew my mother. She died not long after I was born.’

  The emotional atmosphere in the room was tangible as Eileen’s mother said quietly, ‘Well, you are here now, Abigail, and you are among friends.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Matthews,’ Abigail said, trying to stop her voice from breaking. ‘I really believe I am.’

  Emily, who had been completely detached from all that was going on, suddenly looked up at Eileen’s mother. ‘You didn’t have any mint sauce with your dinner, did you? Don’t you like it?’

  ‘Not very much, Emily, because it makes my tongue tingle,’ Mrs Matthews said.

  Emily nodded. ‘I don’t like it very much either,’ she said. ‘What’s your name – your real name, I mean, like mine is Emily?’

  ‘It’s Gladys,’ Mrs Matthews said promptly. ‘My real name is Gladys, Emily.’

  Emily considered this for a moment. ‘I like that name,’ she declared, ‘because it’s got “glad” in it!’ She leaned in closer and giggled. ‘I’m glad you’re called Gladys!’

  ‘Emily,’ Abigail began reproachfully, ‘I don’t think you should—’

  Eileen’s mother intervened. ‘It’s perfectly all right, Abigail,’ she said, ‘and I’m really pleased that Emily likes my name. That’s something to be glad about, isn’t it?’

  Chapter 15

  Much later, after they’d had tea – to which it was insisted that Carrie should stay and enjoy with them – Eileen said, ‘I think your dolly is ready for bed, don’t you, Emily? She must be tired sitting there in your pocket all this time. Shall we go upstairs now?’ Eileen smiled across at her mother. ‘And I think someone else is nearly ready for a rest too,’ she added, noting that Mrs Matthews was getting up to return to her room.

  With Emily excitedly following Eileen, and with Abigail and Carrie behind, holding all the bags and belongings, they went up the long, richly carpeted staircase, together, Abigail conscious of how spacious everything was. Coopers could fit into this house about fifty times.

  ‘My mother doesn’t have a room up here anymore,’ Eileen said, glancing back at Abigail, ‘because she finds the stairs too difficult to manage. So you and Emily will be sleeping in what used to be her bedroom – the largest one with the largest bed, Emily will be pleased to know. Mine is right next door, the box room is there at the end, and the bathroom is there at the other end – see?’

  They opened the door and Carrie said, ‘I can vouch for the comfort of this bed, Abigail, because I’ve slept here once or twice myself. You won’t want to get up in the morning!’

  Abigail stared around at the room they would be sleeping in tonight. The massive bed was furnished with several soft white pillows, and there was a huge pink eiderdown covering it from head to foot. The dressing table in the window had a velvet stool in front, and three mirrors to see yourself in. Three! Coopers had only ever owned one yellowing mirror above the kitchen sink. At each side of the bed there was a small table each holding a reading lamp, and at either side of the window there were two comfy bedroom chairs.

  Realising that she hadn’t said a single word for several moments, Abigail turned to Eileen. ‘I don’t know how to thank you for letting us stay here tonight.’

  Eileen squeezed her arm. ‘It’s our pleasure – and look – Emily has already chosen her chair.’

  Emily was sitting there sucking her thumb, and Abigail went over to her.

  ‘Come on, I think it’s time for a wash before we get into this beautiful bed, Emily.’

  As the others turned to leave, Eileen said, ‘Use whatever you like in the bathroom, Abigail. There are always fresh towels and plenty of soap in the bath and basin.’

  In bed later, and staring up at the high ceiling, Abigail wished that she could quell her teeming thoughts. So much had happened since they’d left Coopers that the world seemed to be spinning at twice its normal pace. How had they got from there to here in so short a time?

  Turning her head, she gazed at Emily who was so cocooned in the luxurious blankets and pillows it was hard to find her. And she was so far away on her side of the bed Abigail had to stretch out her arm to touch her.

  Abigail allowed herself a little smile when she remembered how she’d worried that Emily might find it hard to suddenly be among other people, among strangers. She had met so few others in her short life. Still, Abigail thought as her thoughts ran on, apart from the fact that her daughter had always been a naturally happy child – even when in the company of Aunt Edna at her most sullen, Emily had never known anything other than an untroubled life at Coopers. And not yet old enough for school, she hadn’t been subjected to the spitefulness of other children.

  Abigail bit her lip. Memory would not loosen its grip on that relentless, often subtle, cruel bullying she had suffered, and she was dreading the day when she would eventually have to send Emily into the hurly burly of school life.

  But – that was not yet, and until then Emily seemed more than happy in the company of all their new friends and appeared totally at ease with Mrs Matthews as the two of them had sat together at the table colouring in their pictures.

  In her sitting room immediately below the one the young visitors were sleeping in, Gladys Matthews shifted restlessly in her chair, trying to ease the discomfort in her back. The little table by her side held a glass of water and her tablets, and she reached over to take the next dose, making a face at the bitterness on her tongue as she swallowed. Eileen always made sure that no tablet was ever missed.

  Dear Eileen, Gladys thought, always so attentive, so cheerful, and who, it had to be admitted, was now in full control of their lives. In control of her life. How times change.

  But Gladys had no reason to complain. She had everything she needed – if not quite what she might have wanted. This big, light and airy room downstairs which looked out onto the small front garden was where she spent most days, while what used to be the dining room next door had been turned into her bedroom. All making her life as convenient as possible. She could still make her way slowly to the kitchen at the end of the hall where they took their meals, and where, she, Gladys, could prepare herself something if she was on her own. The toilet and utility room beyond had been adapted to her needs.

  Just then, as she sat there deep in her thoughts, she heard the little girl who would be lying in the bed above, call out to her mother. A childish cry of fear from a bad dream? Then, that faint, familiar squeak of the bed springs, and the soft, inaudible words of comfort.

  Then, complete silence as before.

  Gladys gazed into the far distance. So very often as a teacher she’d had that same experience, consoling an anxious child, to make it feel safe after a quarrel or a tumble in the playground. And here, in this house, she’d frequently had to hurry along the landing to reassure her own daughter who’d always been a restless sleeper. A sleepwalker, in fact, sometimes making her way to the front door before being gently guided back to bed.

  Was it all these memories, stored so tightly in her mind, that sometimes made her feel such emptiness? Gladys asked herself. Within its own limits her life was full enough, yet full of emptiness. How was that possible? How could something f
ull, be empty? She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Perhaps it was an emptiness of the soul, something deep, deep inside, that no one could touch or help.

  But she had to admit that today had certainly ended on a different note. To her best recollection they had never before entertained a young mother and her tiny daughter – a lovely little thing, so ready to talk and communicate without being forward or seeking attention.

  And Abigail – Mrs Wilson – what of her? Deciding to come to Bristol without the support of her husband, and knowing no one when she got here, had been a huge risk, especially with such a young child. Yet she was clearly not a foolish woman, determined to make her own way, whatever it took. Gladys Matthews narrowed her eyes briefly. To her, there seemed no doubt that Abigail was without any guile, but there was a curious naivety about her which was difficult to define.

  It was late now. Eileen had already come in to kiss her mother goodnight, and to explain the predicament which Abigail had found herself in at the landlady’s house – to which Gladys Matthews had reacted with disgust.

  ‘So I really did have to offer them both a bed for the night, didn’t I, Mother?’ Eileen had said, and her mother had replied straightaway.

  ‘Of course you did! And as far as I am concerned, Eileen, they can stay as long as they like,’ Gladys Matthews had said. ‘I see no reason for them to rush off and find somewhere else.’

  ‘So – you really liked them, didn’t you, Mother?’ Eileen said.

  ‘I think they are both perfectly charming,’ Gladys Matthews had replied. ‘How could anyone think otherwise?’

  Now, Gladys picked up her sticks and moved over to open the door. The few steps along to her bedroom were easy enough and the tablets were having their effect, so perhaps she’d get to sleep without too much trouble.

  Easing herself into bed, she pulled the covers up more closely and prepared to settle down – if she could only stop her thoughts from keeping her awake as she went over and over all that had gone on that day.

  And one of the things which she remembered was what Eileen had briefly said after she’d heard Abigail describe her loyal husband’s love and devotion.

  It had been that Eileen hoped there was someone like him out there for her one day.

  Gladys Matthews felt just a tiny surge of unusual optimism. That was the first time her daughter had ever made such a remark or expressed any kind of wish for a man in her life. Eileen was always finding a reason to turn down a date.

  And Gladys knew only too well the reason for that. She knew that Eileen had marked out her own future as being responsible for her mother’s health, happiness and wellbeing until the end of her life.

  But that was not what Gladys wanted! Even though she valued every second of her daughter’s love and attention, all she’d ever wanted was Eileen to have freedom, and the same chance as she herself had had – to find a loving partner and to have children of her own, a life of her own.

  Still, it was going to be difficult to ever convince Eileen of this, Gladys thought as her eye lids at last began to droop. But you never know, perhaps Abigail and little Emily unexpectedly entering their lives might change Eileen’s view of her own. And convince her that, when necessary, there was always more than one way to deal with any situation which presented itself.

  Chapter 16

  1st September 1939

  Gladys Matthews stood by her window, gazing out at the familiar scene in front of her. Theirs was a quiet road, with just enough movement of pedestrians, together with local traffic – the occasional small car, a milk float or a bread delivery van – to give the comforting feel of simple, kindly normality.

  But what was to become of that simple normality in the days that lay ahead?

  On the wireless afternoon bulletin, the BBC had just announced the most dreadful news. Germany had that day invaded Poland, bombing its people in the streets without warning and attacking the Polish fleet at harbour – and now it was the hideous reality that Nazi jackboots were marching over ground where they had no right to be.

  Gladys Matthews rarely shed tears, in fact it was a long time since she had done, but now she gave in to her pent-up feelings of horror, lowering her head in a kind of shame. Shame to be part of a human race that could allow such atrocious things to happen to their own kind.

  It was Friday and the weather was fine and warm – which, to her mind, made it worse, somehow. If there’d been a howling gale, or even an earthquake, it would have seemed more acceptable than the hateful of news of war. Because what was happening to Poland would surely be the fate of France and Belgium – and England, too. Although England had still not declared war, the signs of approaching and immediate disaster were everywhere. Now, everyone had been told that they must black out all their windows so that not even a chink of light could be seen by enemy bombers above, and only yesterday two huge barrage balloons – strange, bulbous things – had appeared floating above the rooftops. Even worse, small children, labelled, and with gas masks hung around their necks were boarding trains at Temple Meads Railway Station to be evacuated to places of safety.

  Gladys Matthews bit her lip in quiet desperation at all her anxieties. How very strange, she thought, that Abigail had chosen to leave the countryside at just the wrong time, because she and Emily would clearly have been out of harm’s way had they still been living at Coopers.

  Eileen’s mother shrugged helplessly. Well, come what may, there was one thing she had no doubt about. Abigail would never be parted from her daughter, whatever the circumstances. There would be no evacuation for Emily. If Gladys Matthews was any judge, no war was going to separate that devoted mother from her child.

  3rd September 1939

  Jonathan Waters made his way slowly up the steps of his pulpit and gazed down at the congregation. He tried not to catch the eye of any of his flock in case his extreme disquiet should be recognised. His calling was always to encourage, console and inspire, and that is what he must do this morning, even though his heart was heavy. He cleared his throat.

  ‘My dear friends,’ he said solemnly, ‘what I am about to tell you will not come as a surprise because we have been expecting this news for many weeks and months.’ He paused before going on. ‘While we were worshipping here in church today, our prime minister, Mr Neville Chamberlain, gave a speech to the nation in which he said that despite all his efforts to avoid it, we are, once again, at war with Germany.’

  There was complete silence as everyone took in the news they’d been waiting for. Then a stifled sob from the back of the church sent a ripple of collective consternation through the sacred building. This was it, then. The die was cast.

  Jonathan Waters spoke again. ‘I am going to ask you to kneel once more so that we may offer our prayers to Almighty God for the safety of our brave men who will be fighting on our behalf. To pray for the safety of the citizens of this city and cities all over the country.’ He waited before going on. ‘And for the safety and wellbeing, too, of the civilian German population – people just like us – who must be feeling as we are today.’ The vicar swallowed, hoping that what he’d just said wouldn’t incur any dissension from the more hot-headed of his flock. He stared down once again before adding, ‘The conflict to come will be no more a wish of theirs, than it is of ours.’

  It was fortunate that Jonathan Waters did not hear the comment of one of his sidesmen who whispered to his neighbour, ‘Oh yeah? In my opinion, the only good German is a dead German!’

  Later, sitting at the table finishing their roast beef dinner, Carrie tried to think of something to lift the sombre mood. ‘That was a jolly good sermon you gave today, Dad,’ she said. ‘I admit that I was about to take Mark’s letter from my handbag and read it again – even though I know it by heart already! But everything you were saying kept me hooked, and when I looked around at the congregation not a single person was asleep!’

  ‘That’s very good news,’ Jonathan said. ‘And I’m glad I have my daughter’s approval.’ />
  Carrie got up to start clearing the dinner dishes, dropping a kiss on the top of her father’s head. ‘You know you’ve always got that, Dad,’ she said.

  Joan Waters got up and went into the kitchen to bring in the pudding. ‘It’s apple tart and custard – your favourite, Jonathan,’ she said lightly. ‘The Bramleys are wonderful this year, and there are masses still to come. These are just the fallers.’

  ‘It’s good to know that we have at least some food in our own garden, isn’t it,’ Jonathan said, ‘because we are going to have to be thrifty with everything from now on. Food rationing is no longer a rumour, it’s a fact, and we shall have our own ration books next year.’

  ‘And not just ration books,’ Carrie said, ‘because we are all going to be carrying identity cards around with us in case we forget who we are!’ She giggled. ‘So, if you have a vacant moment, Mum, someone will bring you safely back home!’

  ‘This is no laughing matter, Carrie,’ her mother said, trying not to smile. Carrie always seemed to see the funny side of things, and when she and Eileen – and Mark – were all together there was never a dull moment.

  Jonathan finished his pudding and reached for his glass of water. Then he stood up. ‘I think it’s about time for my forty winks.’ He glanced at Carrie. ‘If you’re going to number six later, I take it you won’t be at Evensong tonight?’ he said, winking.

  ‘Dad, honestly!’ Carrie exclaimed. ‘You can’t expect me to listen to another of your sermons in one day! That terrific one this morning will keep me going until next week – or even the week after!’

  Despite the dreadful, long-awaited announcement that the country was at war, September passed in a kind of strange dream. The days, still fine and warm, held nothing special to terrify the waiting population. War – what war?